Over a score of dolphins were around the raft, propelling it along at an alarming rate. Every so often, an extra frisky one would jump out of the sea and leap clear over the raft. Vurg sat awake, excited and astounded by it all. Beau tried to sleep, stuffing a piece of bladderwrack in both ears, muttering to himself, ‘Fat chance of shuteye a chap’s got round here. Great lump of a Bolwag, snorin’ away like a thousand frogs on concert night, an’ those pesky bottlenoses squeakin’ like a pile o’ rusty gates, not the sort o’ thing a Cosfortingham’s used to at all. Indeed not. Good job auntie’s not here!’
However, despite the intrusions, Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham was soon adding to the din, snoring uproariously and chunnering on in his dreams through the night watches as the strange craft hurtled towards its destination over the sprawling main.
‘Hmm, mm, wot? Pass the salad there, auntie, an’ tell the cap’n to stop the boat rockin’, will you? Mmm, mm. No thanks, old chap, couldn’t touch another bowl of that bladderwrack pudden, foul stuff. Give it to old bottlenose for school lunch, will you, sharks like that sort o’ thing. Mmm mm, wot!’
* * *
31
BULLFLAY CRACKED HIS whip over the heads of the wretched rowers chained to the decks of the Death Pit.
‘Back water an’ ship oars, you idle bunch o’ land-spawn! Sit still there, not a word or a move, or I’ll ’ave the hide off yore backs ’til yer bones shows through!’
Luke heard the anchor splash as he drew his oar inboard. Placing a cheek flat on the oarshaft he tried looking through the rowing port, but it was a very limited view. Shallow clear water, a white sand beach and just a glimpse of heavily wooded rocks. Norgle the otter, who had his head bent in similar fashion, murmured to Luke, ‘I always hate makin’ landfall. Makes me sick t’me stummick, thinkin’ of green growin’ things, firm ground under me paws, an’ livin’ free like I once was.’
The otter flinched numbly as the lash descended across his back. Fleabitt the rat stood wielding his own personal whip, sneering at the chained Norgle.
‘Then don’t think, oarscum. Mister Bullflay told yer not to move or speak, now I’m tellin’ yer not to think, see!’ He turned as chains rattled nearby. Ranguvar was sitting up straight, her mad eyes boring into the rat.
‘Try that on me, ratface. I’m thinkin’ – aye, thinkin’ I’d like to get just one paw round your louse-ridden throat. Go on, swing that lash, see if y’can stop me thinkin’!’
Fleabitt wilted under the black squirrel’s gaze, and fled the bottom deck, following Bullflay without a word.
Vilu Daskar came out of his cabin, the silken scarf still bound round his neck, which was permanently marked from Luke’s attack upon him. He cleared his throat painfully and beckoned to the two ferrets, Akkla and Ringpatch. They hurried to his side for orders.
‘Break out the neckchains. We need watercask carriers and food gatherers. Choose a party, but only from the top deck. Take enough crew with you, so that you have two to each one slave. We’ll lay over here two nights for provisioning. If any slave escapes you’ll answer to me with your lives.’
Vilu stood waiting whilst two searats set up a chair and table on the stern deck. When a canopy had been rigged over the chair and food put on the table, he sat down. ‘Willag, Grigg, Bullflay, bring the mouse Luke to me.’
Luke was freed from his oar shackles and fitted with a neckchain attached to paw manacles. Bullflay raised his whip. ‘Up on deck, mouse, move yerself!’
Luke smiled contemptuously at the slavemaster. ‘Bring that whip down on me an’ I’ll strangle ye with it!’
Bullflay’s paw faltered, and he let the whip fall to his side. Sometimes he was not sure who he feared the most, the black squirrel, or the Warrior mouse. Luke strode past him, head held high, giving a broad wink to Dulam and Denno as he passed them on his way to the stairs.
Vilu Daskar popped a wild grape into his mouth, chewing it slowly as he looked Luke up and down. ‘Willag, bring a chair for our guest.’
The Warrior dismissed the offer with two words. ‘I’ll stand.’
Indicating the roast seabird, fruit and wine, Vilu said, ‘Suit yourself, Luke. Here, you must be hungry. Have some food and drink. It’s good – I’m only served the best.’
Though Luke’s mouth was watering at the sight of the victuals on the table, he shook his head. ‘I don’t eat food from the table of a murderer.’
Vilu shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. I brought you up here because I want to hear more about this treasure you have hidden. Where did you come by it?’
The reply Vilu received was flat and harsh. ‘I’ve told you all, I’ll take you to it, there’s nothing more to say.’
Vilu’s bone-handled scimitar was out, its tip under Luke’s chin.
‘There are many ways to die: quickly, with a single stroke, or slowly, painfully, bit by bit. Now talk!’
Luke’s chained paws rose, and he pushed the blade aside. ‘If I die swift or slow, you will never find the hiding place. Remember, murderer, I am the only beast alive who knows where it is. Kill me or my friends and you will never possess a single piece of my tribe’s treasure.’
Vilu stuck the bladepoint down into the deck timbers, and the scimitar stood quivering. He nodded and smiled. ‘You’re a strange and reckless creature, Luke, different from the rest. A brave beast like you would go far in my crew, maybe even standing at my side, second in command.’
Luke smiled back at him. ‘Aye, Daskar, then you could make me a real warrior, teach me how to plunder defenceless ones, murder innocent creatures and run away to hide aboard this red ship. You and your Sea Rogues would never stand up to real warriors in combat. Cowards, assassins and the scum of oceans, that’s all the captain of the Goreleech and his crew are!’
A burly weasel named Clubface was working nearby and heard Luke’s words. Thinking to gain the admiration of Daskar, he drew his dagger and leaped upon the manacled slave, roaring, ‘Nobeast talks to our cap’n like that an’ lives. I’ll gut ye!’ The weasel was big and strong, but he did not possess Luke’s speed. The Warrior mouse’s pawchains rapped him hard between his eyes, and Luke grabbed the paw holding the dagger, twisting it inward. Clubface felt himself tripped, and fell backward. Luke slammed his weight down on top of the weasel, falling with him and driving the dagger deep into his attacker’s heart. Like a flash, Luke was upright, the dripping blade in his paw, facing the pirate stoat. Daskar laughed aloud, thumping the tabletop with his scimitar handle, applauding.
‘Neatly done, Luke, you are a real warrior. Come on now, you’ve got the dagger, try to kill me!’
Sea Rogues had come running to surround Luke. He relaxed and stood with the blade hanging loosely from one paw. Vilu Daskar stood and bowed slightly. Motioning his crew to stand off, he pointed the scimitar at Luke. ‘My compliments. You are not only brave, but wise also.’
Luke nodded towards the vermin all round him. ‘The numbers are a bit one-sided, Daskar. I’ll slay you one day, but I’ll pick the time and place!’
Smiling and shaking his head, the pirate stoat replied, ‘Well said. I like an enemy who uses his brains. Take him below and chain him back to the oars.’
Zzzzipthunk!
Before anybeast could move, Luke had thrown the dagger, embedding it deep in the mast alongside Daskar’s head.
‘Sometimes a knife can reach further than a sword. Remember that, stoat!’
Luke went down under the press of crewbeasts. Vilu Daskar stood over him, shaking with rage. He raised the sword, holding it trembling over the fearless slave, then, thinking better of his actions, he snarled, ‘Get him below, out of my sight!’
Sea Rogues hoisted Luke upright and dragged him off, back to the Death Pit of the lower deck.
Bolwag’s flipper, damp and heavy, touched Vurg’s face, wakening him. The sea lion was back in the water; it was midnight of the second day since leaving Twin Islands. The dolphins were gone.
‘Vurg, wake up, liddle friend. Give
Beau a shake. Look yonder. Wood Isle an’ the red ship!’
Moonbeams danced on the phosphorescent sea. No more than an hour’s sailing time away, the Goreleech could be seen, riding at anchor, close to the shore of the island, which looked for all the world like a chunk of forest sticking out of the main.
Beau rubbed his eyes drowsily. ‘I say, does look jolly pretty in the moonlight, wot!’
Bolwag drifted off from the raft. ‘Aye, pretty dangerous too, mate. Well, shipmates, this’s where we parts comp’ny. I wouldn’t be of much use to ye on land or aboard a vessel. But I got ye here.’
Vurg waved at the friendly giant. ‘So you did, Bolwag, an’ our thanks to ye for that. You’ve done more’n enough for us. Good fortune to you an’ those bottlenoses – give ’em our thanks if’n you see ’em again!’
Beau added his farewells to those of his friend. ‘Toodleoo and farewell, you old rascal, wot. I’d watch out for sharks if I were you. Remember how they scoffed your ole auntie, bit careless that, keep your eyes peeled, sir. Oh, an’ give my regards t’those bottlenose chaps, not bad types really, except for all that pesky spittin’ an’ squeakin’. G’bye now!’
Bolwag sank beneath the surface and was gone.
Now they were alone, with only their wits to rely on. Lying flat on the raft, they paddled with their paws, discussing the situation, whilst they were still out of earshot of the Goreleech.
‘Well, Beau, we’ve got this far. What’s the next move?’
‘Patently obvious, m’dear feller. Got to free our friends from durance vile, wot!’
‘Huh, I know that, but we won’t get very far jumpin’ aboard the Goreleech an’ challengin’ ’er crew now, will we?’
‘Of course not, we’d need at least three of us t’do that. We need a scheme, a plan, an idea, or a combination of all three. C’mon now, Vurg, get the old mousey thinkin’ cap on. I’m more a leader than a planner, don’t y’know.’
As they drew closer to the monstrous red ship, Vurg weighed it up carefully, an idea forming in his mind.
‘Beau, d’you see those rope’n’canvas fenders hangin’ over the sides to protect the Goreleech from rocks?’
‘Indeed I do, whackin’ great things they are too, some of ’em, bigger than our little raft. Why d’you ask?’
‘Because I been thinkin’, we could be a fender too!’
‘The deuce y’say, an’ what good’ll that do, pray?’
‘Well, I notice that the stern fenders hang a bit low. S’pose we was to cut one loose an’ let it float off. Then we ties our own up in its place an’ hides there.’
Suddenly Beau was thinking along the same lines as Vurg. ‘Rather! Spiffin’ wheeze, wot. From there we could contact the oarslave chaps at night, when nobeast’s about!’
‘Aye, get word to them we’re here, see if we can’t pinch a few weapons t’help Luke an’ the others!’
‘By the left, I’m glad I thought o’ that little plan. Don’t slack, Vurg, paddle harder please. Hmph! It’s one thing strainin’ m’brain t’think up these plans, but it’s a bit much to expect me t’do all the paddlin’, old chap!’
‘Oh, button up, Beau, y’make more noise than a squeakin’ bottlenose!’
‘I beg y’pardon, sah! Confounded nerve o’ the mouse, wot?’
‘Stop natterin’ an’ keep paddlin’!’
‘Pish tush, I could say the same for you, whiskerface!’
‘No you couldn’t, floppylugs!’
‘Yes I could, bottlenose!’
‘Bottlenose y’self, gabbyguts!’
Glaring at one another and arguing heatedly they ran smack into the Goreleech’s stern. Thud!
High up near the afterdeck a window swung open. Poking his head out, a searat, blinking from the cabin lanterns, called, ‘Ahoy, who’s out there? C’mon, show yerself!’
The two friends grasped the bottom of a fender, pulling the raft close in beneath the stern. Huddled together they held their breath, listening as somebeast joined the searat.
‘Aye aye, wot’s goin’ on ’ere, mate?’
‘Thought I ’eard a noise out there. Sounded like two beasts arguin’, then summat struck the ship.’
A third voice joined the conversation angrily. ‘Somethin’ will strike you if’n yer don’t shut that winder. Can’t a beast gerra bit o’ rest without bein’ blown outer the bunk by draughts from the seas at night!’
The window slammed amid sounds of muffled argument. Both friends gave a quiet sigh of relief. Vurg whispered, ‘Better wait until later, when they’re all asleep, then we’ll see what can be done. What’s the funny face for, Beau?’
‘Funny face nothin’, old lad, I’m blinkin’ well famished!’
‘Wot, y’mean the vittles are all gone?’
‘Exactly, an’ the water too. We’ll starve t’death!’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. You could live off’n yore fat for ages.’
‘Yukk, urroogh, blaaaah!’
‘Don’t make so much noise. What’re you up to now, Beau?’
‘Yurkk, this bally bladderwrack tastes absolutely foul!’
‘I ain’t surprised, matey. Bet even the sharks turn their noses up at that stuff. Beau, where are ye goin’? Come back!’ But Beau was shinning up the stern gallery with the alacrity that only a hungry hare could muster.
‘Won’t be a tick, old thing. Hold the fort ’til I get back.’
A moment later the gluttonous creature had vanished into the darkness. Vurg perched on the raft, nibbling anxiously at his paw, wondering where his friend had gone to.
A ferret and a searat were working in the galley. The ferret laid out loaves of hot bread to cool at the open serving hatch, whilst the rat was occupied chopping up fruit, which he mixed in a bowl with honey.
‘Good fresh fruit they got from the island t’day, cullie. Cap’n doesn’t go much fer it, but it’ll look nice on ’is table fer brekkist.’
Sampling a slice of apple, the ferret licked honey from his paws and winked at the rat. ‘We’ll ’ave it fer lunch, after we clears the cap’n’s table.’
Wiping his paws on a rag, the rat took down a dead pigeon from a hook. ‘Lend a paw ter pluck this willyer, mate?’
They both bent to the task until the bird was plucked. Shuffling to the cupboard for a roasting spit, the rat stopped, looked at the empty space on the table, just inside the window ledge, and turned angrily on his mate.
‘Think yore funny, don’t yer? Cummon, put it back!’
‘Put wot back? Wot’s up, matey?’
‘Hah, don’t you matey me, y’fat robber. Where’s me fruit salad got to? Now give it back ’ere.’
‘I never touched no fruit sal— Hoi! Where’s me bread gone? It was laid out there t’cool a moment ago.’
‘Lissen, slopchops, never mind usin’ yore bread as an excuse, I saw yer pinchin’ slices of apple outta that fruit salad. I’ll chop yer thievin’ paws off wid me cleaver!’
‘Ho, thief is it? Well you kin explain t’the crew where the bread’s gone when there’s none fer brekkist, so there!’
‘Don’t you accuse me o’ stealin’ yore lousy bread. Take that!’ Swinging the dead pigeon, the rat caught the ferret a smack.
‘Ooff! That wuz a foul blow. ‘Ere, you ’ave some o’ this!’ The ferret dealt the rat a stinging blow to his rear with a wooden rolling pin, and they fell to fighting in earnest.
Beau watched from his hiding place on the deck, munching on a hot loaf. The sound of approaching paws caused him to slide into the shadows of the galley bulkhead. As he did, a loaf of bread fell to the deck. Fleabitt stopped in passing, noticed the loaf and grabbed it. Gnawing away happily he went to see what all the noise was about in the galley. Poking his head round the door, he said, ‘Nice bread this is, mates. ‘Ope you got plenny more fer brekkist tomorrer. Likes good bread I does!’
Instantly he was dragged into the galley and set upon by the two cooks, who pounded him mercilessly.
‘So yore the one,
yer scringin’ liddle thief!’
‘Owow! Yowch! Murder! ‘Elp, they’re killin’ me!’
The ferret swung his rolling pin with relish. ‘Kill yer, y’durty grubswiper, I’ll murder ye. Take that!’
Brandishing a copper ladle the rat leaped on the hapless Fleabitt, pounding him severely. ‘Aye, an’ after he’s killed an’ murdered yer, I’m goin’ to slay yer, yew filthy vittle plunderer!’
A sound overhead caused Vurg to look up. Beau’s muted whisper came out of the darkness. ‘Stand by the raft there. Here, catch these!’
Two long hot loaves dropped down on Vurg, then Beau was alongside him, placing a bowl between them both. ‘Nothin’ like fresh fruit salad’n’honey to keep a chap’s chin up, wot. Don’t hog all the bread, there’s a good chap, chuck a loaf over here. Oh, I found a flask an’ filled it from the water cask, better than nothin’ I suppose, wot wot.’
Vurg was glad of the food, though he lectured Beau severely. ‘Your stomach could’ve got us both caught and killed. That was a foolish risk you took, Beau, don’t ever do it again!’
The garrulous hare twiddled both his ears carelessly. ‘Oh, fiddle de dee, mouseymate, what d’you expect a bod t’do, sit here and jolly well starve? Fat chance!’
Vurg could not help smiling at the devil-may-care Beau. ‘Oh, all right, but be careful. Great seasons, lookit the size of these loaves. There’s enough here t’feed most of the crew. Did you have to take so much bread?’
Beau tore off a chunk and dipped it in the honey. ‘Waste not want not, old bean. Bet Luke an’ company’ll be glad of fresh bread. Don’t imagine they get it too often, wot wot. When we’ve had a nap we’ll go an’ seek ’em out!’
It was still some hours to dawn. Luke sat shackled to his bench, head bent as he slumbered over his oar. Bullflay lay snoring on his makeshift bed. All was quiet amid the smouldering lanterns of the lower deck, save for the odd whimper of some wretched oarslave, dreaming of home and happier times. Ranguvar was dozing too. She flicked at something tickling her ear. It was a dried stem of bladderwrack. It tickled again, and this time she caught it in her paw, opening her eyes as somebeast whispered, ‘What ho, old thing, y’don’t happen to have a chap down there named Luke, do you? Warrior type like y’self?’